


Unspoken

by Pennstram



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Implied Sabriel, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27415237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennstram/pseuds/Pennstram
Summary: “I didn’t get to say it back.”A punch to the gut. A knife to the heart. I need you. Words that said one thing, but meant another."I didn't either."Or the one where Sam watches Dean over the days following Castiel’s death.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 172





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> I have not read anything, or written anything for the Supernatural fandom in at least a year, but this last episode murdered me. 
> 
> I was originally gonna do a happy fix-it... but uh... here we go.

Sam watched. Every day, every hour, every minute that ticked by, he watched. 

Dean slumped against the wall, eyes bloodshot and tear stains down his cheeks. Dean shoving him away after he was pulled to his feet. Dean, shoulders slumped and hands shaking and feet unsteady, walking away from him. Dean, folding himself into the Impala, looking impossibly small for his size. Dean, burying his face in his arms folded on his chest, his shoulders trembling ever so slightly. 

He watched and Sam? Sam understood. He didn’t know what happened. He didn’t know what transpired in those last moments, but he understood. Castiel was gone. Castiel was gone, and Dean was breaking. He didn’t ask about it. He didn’t say anything as he drove, but still he watched. 

He watched as the tears soaked Dean’s sleeves. As his whole body seemed to shake with the stifled sobs. Something in his own chest tugged at his heart. An ache he could never quite soothe and he understood. 

Dean disappeared the second they stepped foot into the bunker. He may have mumbled an excuse. Maybe an explanation, but it didn’t reach Sam’s ears. He sat at the table, fingers running over the carved letters in the wood. His vision swam and he could feel the tears start to fall. It was like a knife pushed too deep, twisted and pulled. Seeing the pain written on his brother’s face pulled at something he’d tried to bury. 

Gold eyes. Burnt feathers. 

Sam understood. 

He found Dean slumped on the edge of Castiel’s bed. A mixtape held in a shaking hand. Sam watched as his knuckles turned white on the plastic. He watched as Dean tried to stop the sobs. As he roughly scrubbed at patchy red cheeks and stains that wouldn’t leave. As Dean gave up and folded himself forward, arms wrapping around his stomach. 

Sitting down beside him Sam could only stare at the floor because, yeah, he understood. He knew there wasn’t anything he could say right now. He knew there wasn’t anything he could do. This was a different kind of hurt. This was something all consuming. Something you had to work through on your own. 

He knew it was something that would continue to haunt Dean till the end. 

So he watched. Dean drawing in a deep breath. Dean letting it out in a shaky exhale. Dean, pulling the cassette up to press against his heart. Dean, finally opening his eyes, even if he didn’t lift his head. 

“I didn’t get to say it back.” 

A punch to the gut. A knife to the heart. A dark reminder of broken DVDs and shattered glass and scorch marks seared in his mind. Gentle hands plucking away stitches. Unspoken words between them. Words that weren’t quite right, but held so much truth. _**I** need you._ Words that said one thing, but meant another. 

He watched Dean’s jaw clench then loosen. He watched the tight line of his shoulders drop. He watched acceptance, and loss settle on him like a dark mantle. His to carry. His to shoulder alone. Sam understood, because he had a golden one of his own.

“I didn’t either.” 

Sam understood. 

He did. 

He hated it all that much more.


End file.
